As a reincarnated boy with a modern soul, how could Aslan not be fascinated by firearms and Gundams alongside his special fondness for swords?
Before, forging had been purely theoretical—speculative. Precious raw materials couldn't be wasted recklessly.
But now, with so many quality weapons and armor scattered on the ground—swords abandoned by their owners—this was the perfect chance to test his ideas. If he didn't seize this opportunity, who knew when he'd get another?
Thanks to the fairy script that granted weapons special powers, Aslan had barely managed to realize two abilities: magic power emission and sword appearance transformation. In a way, it reminded him of a Zanpakuto.
Melusine's eyes sparkled like stars as she watched the sword transform. Anyone sensitive to emotions, even a blind person, would see the longing shining in her gaze.
Clearly, the sword's transformation touched Melusine deeply.
Aslan grinned, joy bubbling up inside him. He immediately pointed the gun-muzzle-shaped weapon at a wyvern swooping toward him and infused it with magic power. A beam, sharp and laser-like, shot out and pierced through the wyvern's wings.
"It's true—I'm becoming more and more unfamiliar with this world."
Despite living here for so long, Aslan had never fired anything like a gun before. He'd originally planned to aim for the wyvern's head and kill it in one shot. But now, disabling the wings was enough.
Watching the wyvern plummet, he swung the blade portion and chopped clean through its neck.
The reinforced blade easily cut through scales and flesh—but the weapon began to show cracks. Ordinary materials simply couldn't bear so many fairy scripts.
Aslan sighed quietly, staring at the fractured weapon. Fortunately, it wouldn't shatter outright with one more blow, so he could keep using it a little longer.
Realizing their frontal assault was futile against such resistance, some wyverns changed tactics. They circled the castle, attempting to infiltrate through the windows.
The castle's windows—open holes with no glass—offered no real defense. Thick stone walls might protect the structure, but the window openings gradually widened under the relentless pounding.
A two-legged dragon's snarling head had already broken through deep inside the castle, roaring fiercely. Sharp teeth dripping with saliva terrified servants nearby, while patrolling soldiers brandished spears and tried to repel the beast.
But one misstep, and those wyverns could easily rip flesh from bone.
Wyverns also swarmed the castle's main hall. The lord clutched his daughter and retreated, knights forming a protective circle around them. The girl, used to being spoiled, showed no fear—only wide-eyed fascination.
Above Morgan's head, more wyverns crashed through the windows, their roars deafening. Meanwhile, the crows she had trained to observe Aslan grew restless and sought to flee. This displeased Morgan—such rampant wyverns disrupted her order.
Her staff's tip glowed as she spun around, pointing it at a roaring wyvern.
"Enough noise," she snapped.
With a flash of magic, the wyvern transformed into a sparrow.
The small bird chirped obliviously, as if unaware of what had just happened—an act that only deepened Morgan's frown.
Magic pulled the sparrow into her palm. Watching without a hint of emotion, she slowly closed her fingers.
Bones cracked, the bird's cries turning agonizingly faint before silence fell.
Morgan stared at the broken sparrow's body, flames flickering to life in her palm. She incinerated the remains to ashes.
The others nearby instinctively kept their distance.
Morgan didn't care. She closed her eyes and focused, controlling the magical crow that served as her eyes and ears.
Back on the battlefield, Aslan's weapon fired beam after beam of magic energy—until the weight finally overwhelmed it and the entire weapon shattered.
Looking at the shards, Aslan felt a strange mix of relief and helplessness. At least no one would demand compensation for the ruined sword, but its lifespan was painfully short.
For now, until he obtained better forging materials, his most powerful weapon was still his forging hammer.
He threw the hammer hard, hitting a wyvern squarely on the head.
Aslan swiftly removed his coat and dashed forward. Raising his hand, he called the hammer back, then slammed it into the wyvern's mouth.
One by one, sharp dragon teeth clattered into his coat.
For a blacksmith, these were priceless materials. And knowing the Age of Gods was fading, these relics would only grow rarer with time.
No dragon tooth could be wasted.
If he lacked a storage space, Aslan wouldn't let go of a single gram of wyvern blood or bone.
The thriftiness and diligence ingrained deep in his soul must never be lost.
Though wyverns still fought fiercely, the combined efforts of the knights, Melusine's crushing assault, and Aslan's resourceful strikes gradually turned the tide.
Aslan gathered dragon teeth and scales in bulk, materials crucial to completing his ultimate design.
He collected plenty for free—but it still wasn't enough.